I was awakened by a loud bang. At first I wasn’t sure if I had dreamed it or not, but the house was ghastly quite. I got out of bed, put on my Strawberry Shortcake slippers and peered out of my room. The hall was filled with the strong smell of something burnt. At first I thought it was incense, but it was way too early in the morning for my mother to be burning incense.
I walked slowly to my parents' room and opened the door gently. In front of me my mother laid lifelessly across the bed, blood splattered across the headboard and wall. I wanted to run to her, to ask her if she was okay, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed. I tried to scream, but couldn’t.
“Go back to bed!” My father’s booming voice jolted me. His six-foot, six-inch, three hundred pound frame was the wall that stood between my mother and I.
“Go in your room and don’t come out ‘til I come and get’cha.” He turned towards me. His shot gun in hand. My body began to shake. Warm pee ran down my legs.
“Iyanna, I’m not going to say it again!”
I turned and ran back to my room, hiding in the closet as I heard my father’s heavy footsteps moving across the floor. My eyes were wide with anger and fear, afraid of what was going to happen next, terrified that if I closed them, they would never open again.
I had let my father hurt me many times. Did that to protect my mother. That morning, I had failed her. That morning, my mother died while I slept.
I woke up covered in sweat, my heart trying to leap out of my body. I had an instant headache. The room was pitch black. I didn’t know where I was.
My husband’s snoring brought me back to reality, but reality didn’t erase the pain, only made it more absolute. For a second, I was that nine-year-old girl again, terrified, trembling in the darkness. Warm pee running down my legs.